Theater of War: Act One, Scene 1
by TOW
Summary: November 1944 — the war finally impacts on Stalag 13 with new prisoners, budget cuts, and tragedy. The fun and games of the earlier years have ended, forcing everyone, especially Hogan and Klink, to reevaluate their relationships.
1. Chapter 1

"I hold the world but as the world, Gatiano;  
A stage, where every man must play a part . . . "  
- W. Shakespeare

Originally published as a digest-sized zine in 1996. This is an amateur publication for the enjoyment of fans and in no way intends to infringe upon the privileges of the holders of copyrights, trademarks or other legal rights for the _Hogan's Heroes_ universe.

* * *

Act One

Scene One

– One –

It was a cold day, overcast, nasty, in November of 1944. The location was a prisoner of war camp near the town of Hammelburg, not far from the city of Dusseldorf in western Germany.

Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer, walked across the compound of Stalag Luft 13 after lunch. Hogan, a tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties, glanced up at the sky. _Probably start to snow later_. _Well, let's see what old Klink's up to. Might learn something interesting._

Hogan walked up the stairs leading to the Kommandant's office. Hilda, the camp secretary, wasn't at her desk. Pity. The beautiful girl brightened up the place.

Hogan knocked on the Kommandant's door and, as usual, walked in without waiting for a reply. Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the commandant of Stalag Luft 13, a tall, lean man with a receding hairline and a monocle on his left eye, was sitting at his desk, staring at a piece of paper.

"Afternoon, Kommandant!" Hogan said cheerfully.

Klink looked up slowly, very slowly.

"Nasty day, isn't it?" Hogan continued, oblivious to Klink's lack of response. "Should snow later on."

"What . . . Oh . . . " Klink made a visible effort to rouse himself. Then his eyes dropped to the paper again. "What . . . What do you want, Colonel Hogan?"

"Just dropped in for a chat," Hogan said. "But if you're busy?"

Klink failed to respond.

His strange behavior finally got through to Hogan. "Are you all right, Kommandant?" Hogan asked.

"You don't really care if I am or not, do you, Hogan?"

Hogan was taken aback by the toneless question. He fumbled uncharacteristically for a response. "I, uh — "

"Please," continued the weary voice, "don't bother to lie. No, all you see is the uniform. That's all the world ever sees — uniforms, targets, strategic missions. Not the people. No, never the people."

"Kommandant?" Klink was making Hogan decidedly uneasy.

"Colonel Hogan," the blue eyes turned to him, "for once, can you see past the uniform? Past the fact that I am a German, a man you probably despise, possibly hate? Past everything you assume about me?"

"I, uh . . . "

"Then, please, Colonel Hogan, leave. I am asking you as one man to another. Please, leave. Now."

"I . . . " Hogan was at a loss for words as he stared at Klink. Klink's eyes had dropped back to his desk; he looked surprisingly tired.

"Yes, sir," Hogan finally said. He walked to the door. "If you want anything . . . " But Klink had stopped listening to him. Hogan shook his head and left.

His men were waiting for him in his office, still listening in on the coffeepot that was the receiver for the bug in Klink's office.

"Hilda just came in; Klink sent her home," Corporal Peter Newkirk, an Englishman, reported.

"Yeah. And told Schultz he wasn't to be disturbed for any reason," Sergeant Andrew Carter, the American explosives expert, added.

"What's up, Colonel?" Sergeant James Kinchloe, a tall black man with a mustache, asked.

"I have no idea. I've never seen him like this before," Hogan admitted.

Glass clinked in Klink's office.

Sergeant Richard Baker, another black American, grinned. "Starting a little early, aren't we?" He started as the sound of shattering glass came from the office.

Then a sound they had never heard before. One that startled and even shocked them.

"Colonel," Corporal Louis LeBeau, a diminutive Frenchman, finally said. "Klink's . . . crying?"

Hogan looked unusually sober. "Turn it off."

It was dark, nearly time for lights out when Hogan walked across the compound to Klink's quarters. As Hogan had expected, it had started to snow — a good, steady snow. Klink stood on his porch, watching the snow. Or at least staring out at it.

"Evening, Kommandant," Hogan said. He really wasn't sure why he was here. But, for some reason, he felt he had to be.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink's voice was neutral.

"Should get a few inches out of this," Hogan said conversationally.

Klink seemed to notice the snow for the first time. "Yes."

"When I was a kid, I loved it when it snowed like this," Hogan said after a while, just to end the silence. "My parents didn't."

"No." An odd voice. "Adults forget the wonder of it all too quickly."

Hogan was running out of things to say. "Uh, yeah." What the hell was he doing here anyway? Whatever Klink's problem was, it wasn't any of Hogan's concern. But Klink's behavior had gotten to him in a way he'd never expected. Annoyed with himself and Klink, Hogan prepared to leave.

"Do you know any children, Colonel Hogan?" Klink asked suddenly. "I mean, really know them?"

"No, can't say that I do." He glanced at Klink's sharp profile. "Do you?" This was the craziest conversation.

"Yes. Several. One was my younger sister."

"You have a sister?" Hogan knew little about Klink's family. Except for the odd bits of information he'd picked up, Hogan never bothered to learn about them. It wasn't important. Unless it fit in with a scheme of Hogan's, personal facts about Klink were never important.

"Yes. She is much younger than I. I was eighteen when she was born."

Hogan grinned. "Must have been a shock."

"Yes. A very pleasant one. She was such a beautiful child. Bright blue eyes, long blonde curls." Klink's voice had a quality in it Hogan had never heard before. "And she had a laugh that lifted your heart."

Hogan turned to watch Klink more closely.

"I wasn't home much, of course; I was already at the Academy. But whenever I did get home, she always would run out to greet me."

"And big brother doted on her."

A small smile. "Dote is an understatement. I adored her. She was everything I could never be — beautiful, lively, a joy to everyone. You won't believe it, Hogan, but she adored me too. I could do no wrong in her eyes."

Hogan hid his grin.

A wistful sigh from Klink. "As all children do, she grew up. Into a beautiful woman. Beautiful, intelligent, generous. All the young men were crazy about her. But no one was good enough for her. Until . . . "

"Until?" Hogan prompted, oddly reluctant to end Klink's reminiscing.

"Finally, someone was good enough for her. He comes from an excellent family; he is strong, handsome and gentle. He is a little older than she is. But he loves her. And she loves him."

"An officer?"

Klink shook his head. "By default only. He is a doctor. The kind all doctors should be. He really cares for his patients. It doesn't matter who you are, what you do, if you are sick or hurt, he will care for you. He really is worthy of Therese."

"Lovely name."

Klink nodded. "They married, and, in time, had a son. A little boy named Wilhelm."

Hogan was amused. "After the uncle?"

"Ridiculous, is it not, Colonel Hogan?"

"Oh, I don't — " Hogan began.

And was ignored. "Like his mother all over again. The same big blue eyes, the same blond curls. And a smile to melt your heart. Always running out to greet me whenever I could visit. All the innocence and joy of a child in one small boy. Everything was a cause for wonder — a flower, a snowflake. Everything and anything."

"Bet you can't wait to see him again," Hogan said brightly.

Klink's face lost all expression. "I will never see him again, Colonel Hogan." His voice had lost all feeling. "He was killed in an air raid earlier this week."

Stunned, Hogan stared at him.

"I received the letter today." Klink rubbed his eyes with a hand. "They call them strategic targets, Colonel Hogan. It doesn't matter if it is London or Tokyo or Berlin. Just points on a map," Klink continued in the same dead voice. "Someone far away decides it should no longer exist.

"I wonder how long wars would last if people really knew what they were destroying. Or do they even care? After all, what is so important about a five-year-old little boy compared to the ambitions and slogans of grown men?" Pain broke the deadness in his voice. "The only thing he ever did was bring joy to the people who loved him."

"Colonel," Hogan said in the darkness, "I don't know what to say."

A deep sigh. "There is nothing to say, Colonel Hogan. An accident of war. You know, you Americans are really very lucky. This, at least, does not touch you."

"I'm very sorry, Colonel Klink."

Something in his voice made Klink look at him. "Colonel, for the first time, I believe you mean it."

"Colonel, for the first time, I do."

The shiny eyes looked away. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan."

A long, oddly companionable silence. Then . . .

Klink roused himself. "Colonel Hogan, it is nearly time for lights out," Klink reminded him in that strangely neutral voice.

"Yes, sir. Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Newkirk grinned as Hogan entered the barracks. "Well, Colonel, what's with old Klink?"

"Another girl jilt him?" LeBeau asked.

"Or maybe," Carter began flippantly.

"Knock it off!" Hogan ordered roughly and walked into his room.

Startled silence followed him.

Hogan sipped the remains of his cold coffee as his men filed in quietly and closed the door.

"Colonel," Kinch began, "we didn't mean anything by it."

"Yes, you did," Hogan retorted angrily. "And so did I. Klink's right. All we see is the uniform. Something to hate or poke fun at. Nothing real. Just an illusion."

"Colonel, what's wrong?" Kinch asked quietly.

"I found out what's wrong with Klink." Hogan stared into his coffee mug. "His five-year-old nephew was killed in an air raid earlier this week; he found out this morning."

"Klink? A nephew?" from Newkirk.

"Gosh," from Carter, "that's too bad."

"Tough luck," from Kinch. "But, Colonel, that's what happens in a war."

"That's what Klink said," Hogan said gloomily. "An accident of war. Where no one sees who gets hurt." He looked at his men. "But people do, don't they? Even five-year-old little boys."

"We don't make the rules, Colonel," Baker said.

"No, we don't."

"Colonel, something else is bothering you, isn't it?" Kinch observed.

"Yeah, there is," Hogan admitted. "For the first time, I saw Klink as a person. I mean, really saw him as a person. Someone who feels and can be hurt. We even had what might be called a real conversation. Up to now, he's been nothing more than a caricature in a uniform."

"Klink is a caricature," LeBeau said positively.

Hogan shook his head. "Not today, he wasn't. He seemed different somehow. I don't know. It's as though what we see everyday isn't really him."

"There could be another explanation, Colonel," Kinch said quietly.

Hogan looked at him.

"Like you said, for the first time, you saw Klink as a person. Maybe that's what's spooking you," Kinch said. "Maybe you, we, don't want to. It might make things harder for us. I mean we use him all the time."

Hogan nodded. "Yes, I do, don't I?" he said softly. A long pause. Then, "Like the man said, an accident of war."

"If it'll help, Colonel," Newkirk said, not quite understanding Hogan's concern, "think of all the kids they murdered. You don't see him caring about them, do you?"

Hogan shook his head. "Guess not." Then he roused himself. "Time for lights out in a minute," he said. "You'd better hurry up."

Good nights sounded from his men.

"Good night," he echoed as the door closed behind them.

Hogan put his cup down and pulled off his jacket. Undoing his tie, he walked to the window and opened the shutter for a moment. Lights were going down around the compound, except in Klink's quarters. He closed the shutters tightly, for a moment wondering if Klink would get any sleep tonight.

Then he shrugged. Getting sentimental in his old age, that's what it was. Nothing more.

He didn't want to think what else it might be. He didn't want to think about how things seemed to be getting better between Klink and him. Better since that day after Hogan had again bested Klink, though, of course, Klink didn't know it. The day after that Gestapo major had left, after clearing Hogan of a sabotage job(1), which of course, he had done. Klink had laughingly told Hogan about it. Hogan, naturally, was outraged, managing to get an undeserved apology out of Klink. Then came Klink's startling, spontaneous comment that he "liked" Hogan. Oddly, Hogan had been pleased by the comment. Not that it mattered what an idiot like Klink thought of him. But it had pleased him.

Weird. Why should he care what Klink thought? He never had, never in all this time. Then again, why shouldn't Klink like him? After all, he was a likable fellow. Unlike Klink.

Poor Klink. He really was a fool. A naive fool. Not realizing what a perfect tool he was. So easy to manipulate, to use. So easy to get rid of. He almost felt sorry for Klink. He almost . . .

A cold wave washed over him. No. He felt nothing for Klink. Nothing but contempt.

Nothing . . .

* * *

1 "Hogan's Double Life"


	2. Chapter 2

Act One

Scene One

– Two –

_Just a few weeks until Christmas,_ Hogan thought. _Another Christmas here._ A sigh. He had hoped the war would be over by now. But it wasn't. The Germans were still far from dead, still fighting with all the skill and ingenuity they possessed. It wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. Still more work for his group of men. And, unfortunately, more prisoners as well.

"Company coming," Newkirk said softly beside him.

A car turned inside the gate and approached Klink's office.

"Set up the coffeepot," Hogan said. "I'll check our visitor out."

Klink had come out of his office and seemed genuinely pleased to see his visitor. A captain. Wehrmacht. Klink and his visitor embraced. There seemed to be real warmth in the greeting.

"Kommandant!" Hogan called as he approached. "Do you have a minute?"

"Colonel Hogan." Klink wasn't too pleased to see him. "Can it wait until later?"

"Sure, no rush," Hogan said amicably. "I'm not going any place."

Intense brown eyes peered at him out of a pleasantly handsome face. A faint twinkle of humor was in their depths.

"Very funny, Hogan," Klink said. "Dieter, I'd like you to meet Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer. Colonel Hogan, my brother-in-law, Captain Dieter Müller."

Hogan raised a brow. This pleasant, intelligent-appearing man related to Klink? "How do you do, Captain?"

The handshake was firm, friendly. "I am well, Colonel. I hope Wilhelm is treating you the same."

The interest in Müller's eyes seemed real. "Can't complain. He won't let me," Hogan added to Klink's annoyance.

Müller smiled faintly in response.

"Dieter is a doctor, Colonel Hogan. Perhaps he will visit the infirmary later," Klink said.

"Yes. I would like that very much."

"Very generous, Captain," Hogan said.

"Not at all. It is simply my duty as a physician."

"Now, if you have nothing else, Colonel . . . " Klink started.

"No, nothing. Nice meeting you, Captain."

"And you, Colonel."

Hogan went back to his room. His men, save for Kinch, were already listening in.

"Friendly sounding chap," Newkirk observed.

"He's Klink's brother-in-law. A doctor."

Kinch came in. "Colonel, the underground said to contact a new man in the area. Name's Dieter Müller."

Hogan looked at him in surprise. "Are you sure?"

"Yup. Captain Dieter Müller. What's wrong, Colonel?"

"He's already here; he's Klink's brother-in-law."

Klink handed Müller a glass of brandy and sat down behind his desk. "How is Therese?" His voice sounded a little different to the eavesdropping men.

"As well as can be expected," Müller said. "Christmas . . . Christmas will be difficult." He looked at Klink. "Can you get away?"

Klink shook his head. "Nein. With the war the way it is — "

"The war!" Müller interrupted vehemently. "The war! It killed my son! Murders thousands of people every day. Destroys countries. And for what?!" There were tears in his voice.

Klink chose his words carefully. "It will end."

"When? How many more children must die? How many more parents must cry for their babies?"

"Dieter, don't!" Klink's voice was soothing. "Stop tormenting yourself. It will end."

"Not if left to those," an ugly expression, "in Berlin." The hate in Müller's voice surprised the listening prisoners. "Well, I am not leaving it to them any longer!"

"What do you mean?" Klink asked slowly, deliberately.

"I mean I am going to do everything I can to end this madness, Wilhelm. Help anyway I can."

"Help who?"

"The resistance, Wilhelm. And I want you to join me."

His statement took Klink and the listeners by surprise.

"Dieter, you are talking of treason."

"I am talking of ending this insanity brought on by a madman."

"That 'madman' is your Führer, Dieter," Klink said carefully.

"My what?" Müller stared at Klink. "Wilhelm, what is the matter with you? You sound like one of those damned Nazis."

"Dieter, please." Klink sounded tired.

"Please, what? You once hated everything the Nazis stood for." Brows were raised among the eavesdroppers. "What has happened to you?"

Klink stayed silent.

"Join me," Müller pressed. "Come with me to see these people. As the Kommandant of a prison camp, you could be of great help."

"He already is," Hogan said with a grin.

"Dieter, this is mad. The Gestapo is suspicious of everyone, everything. If you are caught . . . Think, Dieter! You can destroy everything — your career, your home, your family."

"You are afraid!" Müller accused.

"Of course, I'm afraid!" Klink stood, angry. "You should be, too! These are dangerous times, Dieter. Leave politics and resistance to those who know best."

Müller stared at him. "Mein Gott, they're true. All true. I didn't want to believe it."

"Believe what?"

Müller stood and faced him. "All those stories. Klink, the ineffectual, spineless fool — "

"Ouch," from Carter.

"Whose only claim to any talent is that no one has ever escaped from this camp," Müller continued damningly. "But, in all other respects, a hopeless incompetent."

Klink turned away from him, his face a frozen mask.

"If Therese ever knew . . . " Müller's voice was quiet. "She adores you. You were always her big brother. You were brave, strong. You knew everything, could do everything." He shook his head. "If she could see you now, as you really are."

Silence from the man at the window.

"It would kill her," Müller finished softly.

"Dieter, please." A very tired voice.

"I won't say anything to Therese." Müller slipped on his coat. "I can't destroy her image of you. But . . . Perhaps it is best that you don't see her."

Klink turned to him. "Dieter, don't do anything foolish. Please."

"Why?" Müller challenged. "Will you turn me in to your precious Nazis?"

Klink went white. "I think," he sought to control his voice, "we should stop. Before too much is said."

"It has already been said, Wilhelm." Müller said contemptuously. "God willing, I will be back in a day or two to see your prisoners. But I have no desire to see you again, Wilhelm. Goodbye."

The listeners heard the door slam.

"Gee," Carter said, "I almost feel sorry for Klink."

"Yeah," Kinch said. "His brother-in-law gave it to him. But good!"

"Well, he deserves it," LeBeau sneered.

"So," Baker asked, "how do we contact him?"

"Tonight. At his hotel," Hogan said.

Newkirk grinned. "Is he going to be in for a surprise!"

* * *

There was a knock on the door as Dieter Müller started to take off his jacket. Frowning slightly, he went to the door. "Who is it?" he called.

"Herr Doktor," said a voice, "there is an emergency. We must speak to you."

Surprised, Müller opened the door. He was shocked to find Colonel Hogan standing there in civilian clothes. Before he could say a word, Hogan pushed his way into the room along with one of his men and closed the door.

"Colonel Hogan!" Müller finally found his voice. "What are you doing here? How did you get out of camp? Did you escape?"

"Not exactly," answered the American. "I understand it never snows in Munich."

Müller stood frozen for a moment. Then his numb brain remembered the response. "Only when the sun is out."

Hogan grinned at him. "Stupid codes, aren't they?"

Müller couldn't say a word, his mind still trying to grapple with Hogan's presence.

"Does anyone know you are here, or not in camp?" he finally managed to ask.

"You mean, Klink?" Hogan's voice was disparaging.

Müller nodded.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Müller shuddered as he grasped the full implication of Hogan's statement. "You . . . You are in the habit of wandering in and out of camp."

Hogan nodded.

"And, no one, the guards, no one knows — "

"We have a very nice little setup," LeBeau said.

Dieter Müller sank into a chair. The stories he'd heard became even more horrible. What had happened to the man he'd thought he had known? What?!

"We understand that you want to help," Hogan was saying.

"What? Oh, yes." Müller visibly shook himself. "Yes, I do."

"You know it could be dangerous?"

A nod. "It is dangerous everywhere."

Hogan smiled. "Okay. Tomorrow night at 2300 met us at the north end of town, just past the signpost. Wear something unobtrusive."

Müller nodded.

"Good." Another smile. "Until tomorrow then."

"Until tomorrow."

And Hogan and his man were gone, leaving behind a very shaken Dieter Müller.

* * *

The Stage changed the frequency on the radio set atop the bookcase before sitting down in the old, comfortable chair beside it.

The night's operations had gone better than he'd anticipated. It had required a great deal of planning to coordinate the fifteen separate strikes against military targets in Germany and France. Two of the raids had been carried out in conjunction with British and American units. Those hits were the ones that pleased him the most. Thus far, the Allies had been reluctant to coordinate their activities with local resistance units. The success of the night's missions should lead to more cooperative ventures between the Allied armies and the resistance. He hoped.

The success of the operations would also add to his already mythic reputation. He had made certain that there was no doubt that the Stage had been responsible for the strikes; he had allowed himself to be impersonated in half a dozen locations to further confuse his enemies. He permitted himself a smile. After all these years, he still enjoyed confounding the leaders of the so-called master race.

His smile faded as he listened to one of the underground units' messages.

So, Papa Bear had decided to go ahead with the meeting, despite his warning. It didn't surprise the Stage. Very little that Papa Bear did surprised him any more.

He glanced down at the book in his hand. Tacitus had lost is appeal. He returned the book to the shelf, and pulled out another one. A glance at the title. No, not _Divina Commedia_; the horrors he saw were even worse than the hell imagined by Dante. He returned the book to the shelf, pulled out one of Moliere's comedies, and changed the frequency on the powerful radio.

The Stage listened more closely now. This was the enemy's frequency. Code, of course, but one he knew quite well.

He stiffened in surprise. So, the SS knew about the meeting of the two groups. Knew and would attend.

_Damn!_

The book lay forgotten on his lap. It sounded as if, this time, the SS had planned well. Papa Bear and his men had managed to evade capture in the past; this time, he wasn't certain they could. A very valuable underground unit could well be taken. Along with innocents who had nothing to do with it.

The Stage started to reach for the radio, to order Papa Bear to cancel the meeting.

And changed his mind. It had been a long time since the Stage had been seen around Hammelburg. Perhaps a personal visit was long overdue. A thin smile. As was the lesson about to be taught to a certain, rather impudent, American colonel.


	3. Chapter 3

Act One

Scene One

– Three –

There was no moon this cold November night. None.

Dieter Müller shivered in the darkness as he followed Hogan and his black-clad men to the meeting. The gun in his hand felt strange. He had not wanted to carry it, but Hogan had insisted. Be prepared, Hogan had said, sounding like a boy scout.

Doubts began to crowd Müller's mind. Doubts that vanished whenever he thought about his child — that cold, angelic little face on the table. And then Therese's face. So white, so empty, as she stared at her son. Even now, pain slashed through him as he thought of his young son. That was why he was here. To do something, anything.

A clearing. A small fire in it. A handful of people waited around it.

Colonel Robert Hogan, code name Papa Bear, wasn't too happy to see the fire. "This isn't a picnic," he said angrily.

"It is cold," said one of the men.

"Put it out anyway!" Hogan ordered in disgust. This was a new group. An inexperienced group. Too new, too inexperienced.

"Are we all here?" Hogan asked as the fire was doused.

"Yes," murmured a man.

And all hell broke loose.

Müller watched in shocked horror as a dozen armed, uniformed SS soldiers showed up. The weapons were pointed at them, at him. He heard Hogan's curse.

Müller wasn't too sure what happened next. All he knew was that, suddenly, from the side, something opened fire on the SS soldiers.

"Run!" commanded a voice.

People scattered, guns firing.

A soldier appeared in front of Müller. Müller knew he had to fire. He tried to remember that this was one of those faceless monsters he had vowed to destroy. But this man had a face — grim, white.

And Müller knew he couldn't fire. He had spent too much of his life trying to save life; he could not take it.

A shot from his side; the soldier crumpled.

"Run!" commanded a masked man in black.

Müller ran; the man followed.

A hissing gasp behind Müller.

Müller half turned to the man following him, but found himself pushed ahead. He heard shots behind him as the man fired.

On through the dark woods and Müller found himself back at the car. The man was beside him. Then Hogan and his men broke through the trees.

"Get in the car!" Hogan ordered.

The masked man was already behind the wheel. The others had barely gotten inside when the car started off into the darkness.

After a few kilometers, the car stopped.

"You really should chose your allies more carefully, Papa Bear," the man in the mask chided.

Hogan looked at him closely for the first time. "Stage?" His voice was incredulous.

"I see you remember me. I am flattered," was the dry reply. The door opened and the Stage got out of the car.

Müller noticed the blood on his right sleeve. "You are hurt!"

A glance at the red stain. "A scratch. Nothing more."

"I am a doctor," Müller began.

"Perhaps it would be better if you remained so," the voice said gently. "I fear you are not a very good soldier."

"Nein," Müller said, accepting the reprimand. "I thought I could be, but I cannot."

The masked head nodded. "As for you, Papa Bear, I would suggest you heed warnings given you in the future. I may not be around the next time."

Hogan chafed under his reprimand. "I can take care of myself."

A dry, "So I see. Until the next time, Papa Bear."

"Stage," Hogan said, more contritely, "thanks."

A faint smile. "You are welcome. Goodbye, Papa Bear."

The man disappeared into the woods.

"Who . . . Who," Müller's voice was shaking, "is he?"

There was sudden awe in Hogan's voice. "The Stage. One of the most important resistance leaders in Germany. I didn't know he was in the area."

"He is not from around here?" Müller asked.

Hogan shook his head. "He gets spotted all over Germany. Always in that mask. Supposedly only a handful of people know who he really is."

"I have heard stories," Müller said slowly.

"You and everyone else," Hogan said. "Well, this has been quite an experience, Doctor. Care to try it again?"

Müller shook his head. "I think I will do what I know best, and that is being a doctor. I will help who I can, but I think I will leave the rest of it to those who know better."

Hogan nodded. _Funny, that's what Klink said._

Hogan slid behind the wheel and started the car. Slowly, it disappeared into the night.

* * *

It was a somber Dieter Müller who climbed the steps leading to Kommandant Klink's office. He walked into the office and knocked on the inner door.

Colonel Wilhelm Klink opened the door.

After an awkward silence, Müller asked, "May I come in?"

Klink stepped back and gestured a welcome. He closed the door and followed Müller inside.

Müller looked uneasy.

Klink broke the silence. "Are you finished with the prisoners' examinations?"

"Ja. Here is the report. I found no serious health problems. Considering the conditions, the prisoners are in excellent shape."

"Good. You are leaving now?"

Müller nodded.

"Then there is nothing more to do. Or say."

Müller faced him. "Yes, there is . . . I wish to apologize."

Klink turned away. "For what?"

"For . . . " Müller cleared his throat. "I think I understand a little of what motivates you, Wilhelm, and others like you. You survive. And," a deep breath, "last night, I realized how important that is."

Klink turned back to him. "In what way?"

* * *

Hogan, listening in, stiffened. What would Müller say about last night?

"I made contact with a resistance group, Wilhelm," Müller was saying. "More than one. Only the SS knew about the meeting as well. But for the courage of one man, I might have been caught or killed. I realized then what I had risked. And how foolish I was. I am not a soldier, Wilhelm. I am only a doctor in a uniform that has no meaning for me. As such, I am a liability to others. I had a gun in my hand and realized I could not shoot."

"A doctor should save lives, Dieter," Klink said. "Not take them. And you are an excellent doctor."

"Danke, Wilhelm. I haven't changed my mind about the resistance or the way to end this war."

"I didn't think you had." There was an odd humor in Klink's voice.

"But I realize that I must leave it to others better suited than I. A brave man was injured because of me. I won't risk that again."

"I'm sure that is the wisest thing."

Müller laughed. "I was right, Wilhelm. You are a realist and a survivor . . . "

Silence for a while. Then . . .

"I . . . I have decided to take Therese to my grandparents. As you know, they live near the Swiss border. It is much safer there."

"An excellent idea."

"There is a hospital where she can work. Perhaps in time, there will be another child to show us how beautiful life can be."

"I hope, and pray, so, Dieter."

"And I pray Uncle Wilhelm will visit often."

"I will probably out stay my welcome. A drink before you leave?"

The listening men heard Klink pouring something into a glass.

"To Therese," Klink said quietly.

"And to the men who love her."

After a few moments . . .

"Take care of yourself, Wilhelm," Müller whispered softly.

They heard the door open.

"Write, if you can," Müller was saying as they left the office together.

Hogan left his office as well, watching as Klink walked Müller to his car.

Klink was leaning on the open window, still talking to Müller. "Give my love to Therese," he said loudly, grasping Müller's hand.

Müller nodded; behind Klink, he could see Hogan approaching. He started the car. "Auf wiedersehn, Wilhelm."

Klink stepped away from the car. Müller, raising a hand goodbye, drove slowly away.

Hogan waved as the car passed him.

"Pleasant fellow," Hogan said as he reached the Kommandant.

"Yes, he is," Klink said, watching the car pass through the gates. "And an excellent doctor. He says your men are in excellent shape."

Hogan grinned. "I thought you said he was an excellent doctor."

The jest failed to get the usual rise out of Klink. Instead, he smiled faintly as he turned to go back up the stairs.

Hogan glanced at him, surprised by Klink's good humor. Then a shake of his head as he went back to the barracks.


End file.
